Mrs. Cleo rolled into bio then, carrying a stack of paper. The heavy bracelets around her thick arms jangled with every step. I faced the class, fighting off a stupid grin, and locked eyes with Candy. She arched a brow and mouthed, “Carson?” The way her lip curled around his name was a work of art. Glancing at Carson, I was happy to see he hadn’t noticed.

After class, Candy all but dragged me into the nearest bathroom and stood in front of the door, arms folded across the chest of her sweater dress. The lingering scent of cigarettes and disinfectant rushed over me. The graffiti on the walls looked completely unintelligible. “Okay, Sammy, what the hell is up with you and Española?”

Anger blasted through me like a gunshot. “He has a name. And that was freaking rude, like, on a disgusting level.”

Her thick lashes batted. “Sorry.” She threw up her hands. “God, you are so sensitive now. Yes, Carson is hot. No one can take that from him, and he’s good for some fun, but he’s the son of your groundskeeper.”

My hands balled into fists. “He’s also really smart, a kick-ass pitcher from what I hear, and he’s nice.”

Candy’s mouth dropped open. “Oooh-kay, what about Del? You guys have this epic romance that everyone wants—especially Veronica—but anyway, have you, like, forgotten about him?”

Oh…oh crap. I had forgotten about Del. “This has nothing to do with Del.”

“It doesn’t?”

The bathroom door opened, and Candy swung around, slamming her hand on the door.

“What the hell?” came a startled voice from the other side.

“This bathroom is in use,” Candy shot back. “Go find another.” Facing me, she tossed her hair over her shoulder. “How do you think Del would feel if he knew his girlfriend was making screw-me eyes at another dude?”

“I was not.” I took a step forward, feeling my cheeks flame. “Carson and I are just friends.”

“Since when? I get that you don’t remember anything, but you and Carson are from two different worlds. He hated you. And the feeling was mutual.”

Those three words hit me in the chest harder than they should have. “He hated me?”

She smiled at me like I was a small child who’d just tried to stick my finger in an electric socket. “Do you like him?”

“What?” I shouldered my bag and stalked over to the mirror above the sink, pretending to be engrossed in applying lip gloss. “I already told you I like him as a friend.”

Her face appeared over my shoulder, her eyes catlike. “That’s reassuring, because it would be really awkward if you did.”

“Why?” I snapped the lip gloss shut, fighting the urge to throw it in her face. “Because he’s not rich?”

She scrunched up her nose. “No. Because he totally got with Cassie last summer at a party, and he did the same with Lauren. Carson’s a player.”

Later that night, I had a boy on my bed. Mrs. Messer insisted that I do normal things every day, things that could trigger my memories. And considering my lack of virginity, having Del in my bedroom had to be something familiar.

Mom and Dad were at some kind of silent auction in Philly, and I had no idea where Scott was. He could be anywhere in the massive house, and I’d have no idea.

“Why didn’t you go shopping with the girls?” Del asked, stretching out beside me.

I gave a lopsided shrug and turned my head toward him. His eyes were like warm chocolate, but I had a feeling they could be colder, harder. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

Del appeared to be happy with that, and it was the truth. Spending alone time with him could only help. Apparently we were the things fairy tales were made of, and I wanted to remember it—to feel it. Right now, I felt nothing. My breath didn’t catch, there wasn’t a flutter in my chest or the sweeping heat that—I wouldn’t think of him, especially after what I’d learned about him.

He had slept with Lauren.

And he’d slept with Cassie.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I strung together an atrocity of curse words. I wasn’t going to think about Carson. Seriously. Not when I was with Del. That was wrong on so many levels, and I didn’t need my memories to know that.

I reached out, running the tips of my fingers over the curve of his jaw. His was smooth. I wondered how many times I’d done this in the past.

The simple brush of fingers hadn’t triggered anything in me, but it must have been a sign for Del. His lashes lowered as he rose up on his elbow, hovering over me, not touching, but there, so close.

I swallowed, pulling my hand back to my chest. My breath did catch then, but not out of excitement. Fear and anxiety rode me hard. A questioning look appeared in his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure he should be doing this.

But I wanted him to be doing this. It could help me remember. I needed to remember. Then maybe I’d remember what happened to Cassie.

I nodded and forced my lips into a smile, but I felt my lips tremble.

Del lowered his mouth to my neck, nuzzling the skin there. My fingers curled into the comforter as I pressed my lips together, holding back the word I wanted to scream. Stop.

How many times had we done this? Freaking a lot, I imagined. Why wouldn’t I be kissing and doing all kinds of naughty things with someone who looked like him? And what he was doing was nothing in comparison to how far we’d already gone. Why in the hell couldn’t I remember that?

I closed my eyes, willing my heart to stop racing. This thumping in my chest wasn’t pleasant. Was I having a heart attack? God, that sounded stupid. I wasn’t having a heart attack. Though I kind of wished I were. Then we’d have to stop.

And right then, with the worst timing known to man, I thought of Carson. Why couldn’t Del have such brilliant blue eyes? Or be as goddamned patient as Carson had been at the coffee shop, in the tree house, and in class? No matter whom he’d slept with in the past, I doubted Carson would be fumbling with the buttons on my shirt. He would’ve at least noticed that my arms were shaking and that my fingers were digging into the comforter until my knuckles turned white. Okay. That wasn’t exactly fair to Del. This had been my idea.

My heart jumped again, so I focused on the television. ESPN was on, playing a recording of a baseball game from last season. Go figure. Bottom of the third inning. Atlanta Braves were up to bat. Two strikes and one ball. The batter would have to swing. A dizzy feeling swept over me with the realization that I had such knowledge of baseball.

Del’s hand drew me back to my own body. It rested just below my navel. His fingers brushed under the band on my jeans. I drew in a shallow breath and opened my eyes. “Del?”

His wet kisses moved down my neck, over my collarbone. And his damn hand was traveling farther south. Unable to stop myself, I clamped my thighs together and said his name again.

He lifted his head and stared down at me with muddled brown eyes. “What is it, babe?”

“I…I don’t remember any of this,” I whispered.

“Too fast?” When I nodded, Del stared at me for a moment, then kissed me gently. Just a sweep of his lips over mine, the slightest pressure, really.

I still flinched, and he saw it. Looking hurt, he pulled back a little and removed his hand. Now I felt like crap. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I...” I didn’t know him. That was the problem. It was like making out with a complete stranger.

He rolled off me and leaned onto his elbow. His eyes went to the television screen. The batter had struck out. “I thought that’s why we were doing this. To help you remember? It was your idea.”

“I know.” I sat up, quickly buttoning my blouse. Hunched over my knees, I stared at the screen. “I really am sorry.”

There was a pause, and I heard him sigh. “It’s okay. No big deal. We’ll…try again later.”

The idea of trying again later kind of made me want to hurl.

“Okay?” Del dropped his heavy hand on my shoulder.

Unexpectedly, my vision went gray. The weight of his hand dragged me down, through the mattress, and without any warning, I was no longer in my bedroom.

But falling, over and over again, spinning through darkness. Cold, wet air rushed up, grabbing ahold of me, pulling me down, down. Falling so fast, I couldn’t catch my breath. My lungs were frozen, my thoughts on repeat.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die, like her.

My body stopped, not from impact, but just stopped. The black sky turned a milky, dull color. Above me there were trees painted gray. Bent over, snapped in half, their na**d branches reached toward me, splaying like fingers sharpened to a point. Water rushed below me.

Everything was dead, dead, dead.

Something fell past me in a blur of red. Screams—screams that raised the hair on my body, howls that chilled my soul. And then there was nothing but silence.

Suddenly Del was leaning over me, eyes wide. He had a hold of my shoulders, shaking them. My head flopped around. “Sammy! Sammy, snap out of it!”

Feet pounded outside the room, and then my bedroom door swung open. Scott drew to a halt, his cheeks red and his eyes narrowed. “What’s going on? Why was she screaming?”

Del jerked away from me. “I don’t know. She was fine one second, and then she just got this look on her face and started screaming.”

Scott hovered over me. “Sam, say something.”

I blinked slowly, focusing on his face. “I’m going to die.”

“What?” He sat beside me, pulling me up so that I was half sitting, half leaning on him. “Why would you say that, Sam?”

I stared into eyes that were identical to mine—brown with a splash of green around the irises. Concern drew harsh lines around his. “I remember thinking that,” I said.

His eyes widened slightly, and I felt the bed dip under Del’s weight. “Do you remember anything else? Do you have your memories back?” Scott asked.

“I remember falling.” I scooted back a little and looked down. Half my shirt was buttoned wrong. Nice. There was no doubt Scott had noticed that. “And there was water, but that’s all.”

Scott’s shoulders slumped in disappointment…or relief? “That’s important, though. You should really tell that detective. Do you still have his number?”

“Why?” Del asked. “There’s no way of knowing if what she remembers is actually a memory or just a hallucination. There’s no need for her to embarrass herself like that.”

“Why do you think it’s a hallucination?” I asked, suspicious and fearful at once.

A sheepish look crept across his face. “Your mom mentioned you were…seeing things.”

I was so going to kill her.

“She’s not seeing things,” Scott snapped, pushing off the bed. “The way you say that is like she’s crazy or something. And she’s not.”

My cheeks burned. Del had a point. I didn’t know if the things I had been seeing were really memories. They didn’t make sense, and not all of them could be true. There was no way I could’ve stopped myself from falling in midair like that, and trees sure as hell weren’t gray.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scott give Del a look. “I don’t know what you guys were doing up here, but try slowing it down, bud. She’s been through a lot, you know.”

Del’s jaw popped, as if he was grinding his teeth to keep from responding.

Scott left after that, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him. Awkward silence descended. “Do you think I’m crazy?” I asked, my voice tiny.

“No, of course not…but I do think you’re confused, and that’s to be expected.” He paused, and I could feel his eyes on me. “Look, I better get going. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

I nodded.

Del leaned in, kissing my cheek, and then he stood, bumping into the bedside table, jarring the music box. It kicked on, playing a note of the haunting melody. He stared at it, shaking his head. “I hate that thing.”

“Why?”

He just shook his head again. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

After he left, I went to my desk and picked up the card the detective had left me. It had his personal cell on it, and he’d left instructions for me to call at any hour if I remembered anything. I picked up my phone, debating. What if it wasn’t real? I’d just look stupid.

And crazy.

Sitting down on my bed, I stared at his number. Stupid and crazy were worth the risk if it helped them find Cassie. I dialed his number.

Detective Ramirez answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

I cleared my throat, clenching the business card. “Hi. This is…this is Samantha Franco.”

There was a pause, and it sounded like he muted a television or something. “Yes? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” It was now or never. Closing my eyes, I prayed I wasn’t making a mistake. “I remembered something, but I’m not sure if it will help.”

“Anything at this point will help,” he said gruffly.

I told him what I remembered—the darkness, falling, and the water rushing. At first he didn’t respond, and then he did. And I suddenly felt so heavy, so weighted down by his words.

“Up at the state park, there’s a lake that feeds into a waterfall. I’m assuming you don’t remember either of those things, but we’re dragging the lake on Sunday.”

Cops didn’t drag lakes looking for survivors. They dragged them looking for bodies.

Chapter nine

I felt nauseated most of Saturday morning, having not slept much after the phone call with the detective. The rescue endeavors had turned to recovery. It was unspoken, but I knew it in my bones.